1

The German Chief to thraw, man:
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,
Nae mercy had at a', man;
And Charlie Fox threw by the box,
And lowsed his tinkler jaw, man.

thwart

loosed

Then Rockingham took up the game,
Till death did on him ca', man;
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,
Conform to gospel law, man.

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,
They did his measures thraw, man,
For North and Fox united stocks,
And bore him to the wa', man.1

Then clubs and hearts were Charlie's cartes,
He swept the stakes awa', man,

Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,
Led him a sair faux pas,2 man.
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,

On Chatham's boy did ca', man;

cheers

1 Lord North's administration was succeeded by that of the Marquis of Rockingham, March, 1782. At the death of the latter in the succeeding July, Lord Shelburne became prime minister, and Mr. Fox resigned his secretaryship. Under his lordship, peace was restored, January, 1783. By the union of Lord North and Mr. Fox, Lord Shelburne was soon after forced to resign in favor of his rivals, the heads of the celebrated Coalition.

2 Fox's famous India Bill, by which his ministry was brought to destruction, December, 1783.

And Scotland drew her pipe, and blew,

66

'Up, Willie, waur them a', man!"

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,

A secret word or twa, man;

While slee Dundas aroused the class,
Be-north the Roman Wa', man:

vanquish

And Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, armor (Inspired bardies saw, man,)

Wi' kindling eyes cried: "Willie, rise!
Would I hae feared them a', man?"

But, word and blow, North, Fox, and Co.,
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,

struck

Till Suthron raise, and coost their claise cast off

Behind him in a raw, man;

And Caledon threw by the drone,

And did her whittle draw, man;

And swoor fu' rude, through dirt and blood,
To make it guid in law, man.1

knife

1 In the new parliament called by Mr. Pitt, after his accession to office, in the spring of 1784, amidst the many new members brought in for his support, and that of the king's prerogative, there was an exceeding proportion from Scotland.

TO A HAGGIS.1

FAIR fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race:

plump

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm; small guts

Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

worthy

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill;
Your pin wad help to mend a mill.
In time o' need,

haunches

While through your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic labour dight,

make ready

And cut you up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like ony ditch;

And then, oh what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

1 The haggis is a dish peculiar to Scotland, though supposed to be of French extraction. It is composed of minced offal of mutton, mixed with oatmeal and suet, and boiled in a sheep's stomach. When made in Elspa's way, with "a curn o' spice" (see the Gentle Shepherd), it is an agreeable, albeit a somewhat heavy dish, always providing that no horror be felt at the idea of its preparation.

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes

belyve

Are bent like drums;

swelled stomachs

by and by

Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, burst "Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

surfeit

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi' perfect scunner,

Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view

On sic a dinner!

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as a withered rash,
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;

Through bloody flood or field to dash,
Oh how unfit!

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed,

disgust

feeble

fist- nut

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll mak it whissle;

lusty fist

And legs, and arms, and heads will sned, shear Like taps o' thrissle.

thistle

Ye Powers wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o' fare,

thin stuff

splashes in bowls

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware

That jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis !

EXTEMPORE IN THE COURT OF SESSION.

TUNE- Killiecrankie.

Two well-drawn sketches of the leading barristers of that day—namely, the Dean of Faculty, Harry Erskine, and the Lord Advocate, Mr. Ilay Campbell (subsequently Lord President).

LORD ADVOCATE.

HE clenched his pamphlets in his fist,

He quoted and he hinted,

Till in a declamation-mist,

His argument he tint it:

lost

He gapèd for't, he graipèd for't,

groped

He fand it was awa', man;

But what his common-sense came short,

He ekèd out wi' law, man.

MR. ERSKINE.

Collected Harry stood a wee,

Then opened out his arm, man;

His lordship sat wi' ruefu' e'e,

And eyed the gathering storm, man;